


Grapes of Wrath Can Only Sweeten Your Wine

by moistdrippings



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Will, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sub Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/pseuds/moistdrippings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of being tested and pushed, Will comes home ready to fight — which is exactly what Hannibal was aiming for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapes of Wrath Can Only Sweeten Your Wine

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt (from nine months ago):
>
>> Reverent, subby Hannibal, please.  
> 
> 
> Thank you to my betas, and to the prompter! <3
> 
> The title of this is from HandClap by Fitz and the Tantrums.

Fury burned through Will's veins, up his arms and through his neck until his face was pink with it. His hands were covered in blood again, his jaw ached and would almost certainly bruise, and he had nearly been stabbed. It was, of course, all Hannibal's doing. That was why the stranger's knife, the one that had dug into his back, was at Hannibal's neck, still covered in the man's blood.

"Four," Will said, his voice low and even. "We haven't even been here three months yet, and you've tested me four times."

Hannibal hardly seemed concerned with the knife at his throat at all. He hadn't tensed, hadn't even tried to rise from his seat by the fire before Will was on him. "What makes you think these attacks are tests?"

"I know you. I know what it looks like when you're really trying to kill me. You wouldn't have bothered with a middle-man unless you wanted me to kill him."

"Perhaps I only thought you might bring home dinner." Hannibal smiled, just slightly, the very picture of polite amusement. Underneath that, Will could see his complete delight.

In any other circumstance, Will might have laughed. "You'll be disappointed, then."

"What did you do to him?" Hannibal asked. As though Will wasn't furious; as though there was no strength behind the knife.

"I opened his bowels and spoiled the meat, and then I buried him in the woods."

Hannibal tutted at him. "Such a waste."

Hardly, Will thought. They had pieces of meat from the last "test" still hanging in their freezer — because of course Hannibal had to have a home with a walk-in freezer.

"What do you suppose this is meant to accomplish?"

"The tests or the knife?" Will snapped.

"Both."

Will breathed out deeply through his nose, trying to contain himself. Even after running away with him, even after devoting himself to Hannibal, Hannibal kept pushing his buttons in every way he could. "You want to desensitize me through repetition, make my responses automatic. And you want to make sure I won't have an attack of sudden morality."

"These men attacked you. Few would argue that defending yourself isn't perfectly acceptable within common moral codes." Hannibal glanced down at the hand holding the knife to his throat. It hadn't let up in the least. "And the knife?"

"Sometimes I think you still deserve to have your throat cut."

"But you won't do it." That was true; they both knew it. "So why bother with the show? Is your anger really so impotent, Will?"

Will didn't think about it; the knife slipped away almost without his notice, and his hand wrapped around Hannibal's throat until he could feel his pulse, the bob of his Adam's apple, his every breath. He could feel Hannibal's attempt at a laugh, and knew exactly where it caught in his throat and stopped.

Will's other hand went to the collar of Hannibal's shirt, pulling him out of his chair and shoving him down onto the floor by the fireplace. Will wasn't exactly sure what he meant to do with Hannibal, now that he had him on his knees, but the picture Hannibal made, bent backwards, staring up at Will and hardly able to breathe, was immensely satisfying. He struggled to figure out why through his haze: it wasn't a feeling of victory, because even the most primal parts of his brain recognized that if the situation had been truly organic and not a little bit orchestrated, Hannibal would have overpowered him already, or at least put up a much more significant fight.

He wanted to be there. He _wanted_ to kneel at Will's feet.

"Not so impotent, then," Hannibal murmured, struggling for breath between each word.

"You get off on this." There was a sense of awe about the words, entirely unintentional. Will had never truly imagined Hannibal enjoying sex, outside of its use to him as a tool of manipulation and deception. "It's not the killing."

"I get no sexual pleasure from killing, no," Hannibal answered, apparently unwilling to abbreviate himself even as he struggled to choke the words out. "Watching you kill, however, is a different story. You become exceedingly... dominant, as a predator."

"And you like that." Will squeezed, briefly, and Hannibal's breathing stopped for just a moment. "Dominance. _My_ dominance. Even with all the submission that it implies."

This time, Hannibal made no move to respond. He looked almost peaceful where he was, even serene, the warm smile on his face apparently not a calculated thing, for once.

Will had never craved dominance before Hannibal. If there was a right way to do take it, a script to follow, he didn't know it. Without direction, he felt both hopelessly lost and completely in control: lost to his senses, lost to his inexperience, to the inexorable pull of Hannibal Lecter, and simultaneously in control of every ounce of pleasure Hannibal could possible get from him.

It was probably an illusion, he knew. Hannibal was as indomitable as a forest fire. Even so, it was a heady feeling.

The air felt thick around them, as though it was forcing him towards Hannibal. He used that feeling of forward momentum to press his foot between Hannibal's knees, kicking them apart, just slightly. Hannibal didn't stop watching him, didn't let the unearthly calm of his expression slip at all. Another press forward and Will could feel Hannibal's cock, heavy and warm, against his leg.

He let go of Hannibal's shirt as abruptly as he'd taken hold of it, his left hand working the button and fly of his pants, heedless of the drying blood staining their clothes, while his right remained firmly on Hannibal's throat. If his fingers slipped and fumbled as he opened his pants and pushed them down with his underwear, he knew Hannibal hardly took notice. He was waiting for a cue, and as Will freed his half-erect cock, he found it, tipping his head forward against Will's hold and giving it his full attention.

Reluctantly, Will let go of Hannibal's throat, prying his fingers off one at a time and slipping his hand around to grab a handful of hair instead. With his other hand he pressed at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. When his lips parted obediently, Will jerked him forward until he could feel every hot, desperate breath on his cock.

"Well?" Will jerked Hannibal's head another half-inch closer, and his cock twitched against Hannibal's bottom lip. His thumb was still hooked into Hannibal's mouth, just slightly, and his fingers pressed hard against his jaw, smearing blood across it. "Isn't this what you want?"

"At the moment," Hannibal said, rasping slightly, "it is my singular desire."

"Then have it."

Hannibal needed no further prompting. He surged forward, taking half of Will's cock into his mouth in a moment, showing more unadulterated enthusiasm than Will had ever seen him have for anything short of murder. He was even sloppy, unrefined in his eagerness, and the feeling of saliva dripping down to his palm and adding to the mess there made Will's blood rush in his ears, to say nothing of the sensation of Hannibal's dangerous mouth and clever tongue against his sensitive flesh. The rawness of it heightened everything; even if Will had thought to imagine this with Hannibal, he could never have predicted the intensity of it.

He gripped Hannibal's head, pulled him further down his cock, and shuddered at Hannibal's moan. It seemed to echo through the room, surrounding Will and heating him from every direction. He pulled again, thrusting at the same time, until he could feel Hannibal's nose brush against the hair at his groin. Against his leg, he felt Hannibal thrust in turn, the hard length of his own cock pushing at Will's shin. He pulled Hannibal's head back an inch, and felt him thrust again, building up a steady rhythm as Will fucked his mouth.

The rage had mostly cooked out of him, but traces of it lingered in the air, and he inhaled it as Hannibal used his leg. Like a dog, Will thought, and pulled his leg and Hannibal's head back until the only points of contact between them were his hands on Hannibal's face and in his hair. His cock hung wet in the air between them, shining with Hannibal's spit.

"Do you really think you're entitled to get off right now?"

"You didn't specify otherwise," Hannibal replied, the rasp in his voice worse than ever.

Will bent over, pulling Hannibal's head back as he did, until their faces were only inches apart. "Do I actually have to use force to get you to stop exploiting every loophole you can find?"

Hannibal's eyes gleamed with delight. "You can certainly try."

In an instant, Will was on him, kissing him furiously as he wrestled him to the ground. Their teeth clashed painfully and somebody's lip split — Will wasn't sure whose — but he just licked the blood away, taking the stranger's blood with it, its taste threatening to steal some of his focus. He fought it, and managed to press Hannibal to the floor, settling his weight on top of him. His hands had left Hannibal's head to grasp at his wrists, pinning them down while he let gravity stifle the movement of Hannibal's hips beneath him. He wasn't sure whether Hannibal intended to actually try and fight him or if it was merely an attempt to get more pressure against his cock; either way, he failed.

Will pulled back, enjoying the gasp that his shifting weight wrenched from Hannibal, and took him in. There were trails of brownish blood on his cheek, fading to nothing where it had been licked away, and Hannibal's eyes were glassy, but focused — focused entirely on him, waiting. He was spread out, open to Will from the waist up, and Will felt him settling and straightening his knees, giving up what leverage he had had.

Here was Hannibal Lecter, submitting. Will's cock throbbed with pleasure. "Ready to give in?" Will asked.

When Hannibal answered, his voice was unusually small, deferent: "Yes."

Will had to pause, then, to let that sink in. It penetrated his skin, enlivened him, and he tried to stop panting with excitement, but the deep breath he took hardly helped at all. He shuffled backward, bringing Hannibal's wrists over his chest so that he could grasp both in one hand, and used the other to open Hannibal's pants and expose his dripping cock. He wiped at Hannibal's face, then, gathering up a thin mixture of saliva and blood, and smeared it over his own erection before resettling himself and thrusting against Hannibal.

The sensation was delicious, and Hannibal's reaction even moreso: his head tipped back, lifting his shoulders off the floor before he settled again, face turned to the side. Will took the opportunity to surge forward, mouthing at the base of Hannibal's neck as he thrust, his free hand barely supporting him. His hips began a jerky, arrhythmic motion, the moisture spread over himself not anywhere near enough to soothe the friction of cock against cock. It was uncomfortable, but he needed that rawness, needed Hannibal to feel it from him.

"No more tests," Will said, smothering the words against Hannibal's skin. He felt authoritative, powerful, and even knowing that power might be stolen from him the moment Hannibal got what he wanted out of him, he pressed on. "I will kill when I want to. _We_ will kill when I want to. I'm not your pet to tease."

He expected some form of answer. He jerked his hips hard, sliding his cock up over Hannibal's and slipping over his stomach, just under his neat shirt and vest, and then he held still, waiting. Hannibal didn't respond; Will pulled back marginally, but Hannibal's face was still tipped to the side, away from him. His eyes were clenched shut, almost like he was overwhelmed.

There was an absurd idea.

Will pressed open-mouthed kisses up his neck, rolling his hips again. By the time he reached Hannibal's ear, he was thrusting smoothly against him at a constant, even pace, thrown off only by the half-restrained thrusts from Hannibal beneath him.

"Look at me," he breathed, kissing the edge of Hannibal's ear. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

He saw Hannibal's jaw clench, his throat work as he swallowed, but he turned his head obediently, meeting Will's eyes. "Let me suck you again."

Will slowed his hips and raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think you deserve it?"

That startled a noisy pant from Hannibal. "Please," he said.

"No." Will thrust hard against Hannibal's stomach, squeezing his wrists. "Not until you've earned it."

Hannibal watched him, mouth open, and waited.

Will pushed Hannibal's wrists higher up against his chest, nearly up to his neck, then let them go. "Keep them there," he warned, and sat up, setting himself to the task of opening the lower half of Hannibal's jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. He had half a mind to get himself off with his own hand, to smear his come across the peacock green and blue of Hannibal's suit, but he wanted something more.

Once he had a line of skin bared from Hannibal's throat to his cock, he sat back, settling his weight on his thighs. He put his palms down, curling his fingers into the wiry hair across Hannibal's chest.

"You can start by promising me there will be no more tests. No more games, no more _anything_ that involves having drifters or hitmen or desperate drunks follow me home and ambush me."

Despite his slack-jawed panting, Hannibal looked almost amused. "Now that—"

Will dug his fingers in and pulled, hard, feeling some of Hannibal's chest hair rip out under his grip. He knew Hannibal could put up with pain if he wanted to, but it cut him off effectively, his eyes going sharp. "No rationalizations. No loopholes. You know exactly what I mean. Promise me."

Hannibal's eyes glittered with arousal. "I promise, Will."

"Good." Will loosened his grip, sweeping his hands out until his fingers brushed over tight, hard nipples. He waited a moment, then pinched them both, twisting slightly. He relished Hannibal's small gasp. "Promise me we'll only kill when and who I say."

"I promise," Hannibal said, "but if you're genuinely attacked—"

Will twisted harshly in the other direction. "If one of us is in mortal danger, we'll do what we have to. Short of that, you listen to me. Understood?"

Hannibal nodded and said nothing.

Will shuffled back, keeping eye contact. Once he had his thighs braced on either side of Hannibal's, he looked down, pulling Hannibal's pants and underwear down just enough to expose his balls. He fondled them gently for a moment, exploring their weight and texture, before he closed the fingers of one hand around them, his grip firm and threatening.

Hannibal tensed immediately. He looked uncertain, but he still he said nothing, remaining utterly still.

"You keep your promises to me, and only to me, from this point forward. Your games with anyone else are over now." They hadn't spoken of Alana much since they had left, and Hannibal had never mentioned any intent toward her, but Will knew it was still lingering in the back of his mind. It wasn't worth the risk to their safety, or stirring up old, unpleasant memories. "Don't speak. Just nod."

Hannibal hesitated, and then nodded.

Unexpectedly, Will felt a sudden lightness in his limbs. He believed Hannibal. He thought maybe it was stupid to believe him now, especially when he was being coerced and had a significant amount of blood in his dick, but he believed him all the same.

Will released Hannibal's balls, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving him a few quick, awkward strokes. He wasn't used to coming at a cock from that particular angle, but he felt confident he could learn. When a bead of precome spilled over his fingers, he let go, rising up on his knees and moving back up Hannibal's body.

He planted himself on Hannibal's chest and took Hannibal's jaw in one hand, his own cock in the other. Hannibal's hands were pinned under Will's ass, still obediently in place. "I'm going to have dogs. You're not going to complain about them, hurt them, kick them out of the house, or feed them anything made from human flesh. Is that clear?"

Hannibal nodded again. He looked pleased all over again.

Will stroked himself once, drawing Hannibal's gaze down to his cock. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me how badly you want my cock in your mouth."

"You know how much I want it."

Will dug his thumb into Hannibal's jaw. "You can tell me, or I can jerk off and leave you panting here."

Hannibal breathed deeply, his eyes half-closed. "If you did, I would still find satisfaction at your feet. I would lick the floor for a taste of you."

Will's cock jerked in his hand. "I'd like to see that."

Hannibal's fingers twitched underneath him, but he made no attempt to free himself. "I would replace one meal every day with you, if you would let me. Breakfast, maybe, so I could carry you on my tongue through the day."

Will closed his eyes and bit back a curse, imagining it: waking every morning knowing Hannibal's mouth was his to take, that he would need only to expose himself for Hannibal to fall on his knees for his pleasure.

"Any way you want me, Will," Hannibal said, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "In your bed or under the table while you eat. Outside while you drink your coffee. Just let me suck you again."

Will could hardly breathe enough to speak, and so he just nodded, frantic and hot, and shoved his hips forward, feeding Hannibal his cock. Hannibal strained up to take as much of Will's cock as he could, sucking loud and greedy. Will's weight shifted off of Hannibal's hands, and he felt them move briefly before settling back over his chest. "You can move them," Will said, quickly adding, "but don't touch yourself."

Hannibal seemed to have no issue with that. He cupped Will's ass in both broad palms, urging him forward until Will had to plant his hands on the floor again to keep his balance.

Will looked down between his arms, rocking his hips into soft, damp warmth. At the sight of his cock sinking into Hannibal's mouth, of Hannibal's blissed out expression, he groaned, deep and rumbling. He couldn't quite help the way his hips jerked, fucking down into Hannibal's throat. He felt it spasm around the head of his cock, and he reached down to grip a handful of Hannibal's hair at the crown of his head, angling him so he could adjust their positions. When Will thrust again, he slid in deeper. Hannibal swallowed around him and moaned.

Will fucked Hannibal's throat at a steady pace, now and then pulling back just enough for the head of his cock to rest at the tip of Hannibal's tongue, allowing him one deep, easy breath before pushing back in. All the while Hannibal's hands remained on his ass, not holding, not pushing, but feeling, like Hannibal was steadying himself. When Will shuddered and came, pulling back enough for his semen to spill across Hannibal's tongue, he felt Hannibal's hands squeeze him firmly, just once.

He thought about reprimanding him for it, just as a show of who was in control, but he decided to save that for later. He'd have to make more rules, he realized, and punishments Hannibal would actually not enjoy, if any existed.

It could wait. Will released Hannibal's hair and pulled his softening cock out of Hannibal's mouth, let it rest against his cheek as he licked Will's come from his teeth. 

"That was good," Will said, sitting back and touching Hannibal's jaw.

Hannibal stared up at him. He didn't look pleased anymore, not exactly; he looked grateful, instead, like he really did think being allowed to suck Will's cock was a gift, like he would do almost anything for the chance.

Will swallowed. "You can get get off now," he said, and waited.

Hannibal didn't move, except to tip his head a little, considering. "How?" he asked.

Pleasure surged through Will's chest, comfortable and dangerous all at once. He stood up, reaching out a hand. Hannibal took it, rising to his knees, and Will stopped him there by putting his other hand on Hannibal's shoulder. "Stay on your knees."

Hannibal obeyed, watching Will. His erection protruded obscenely from his pants, and his skin was flushed red everywhere it was exposed. He looked utterly pornographic, and to Will's surprise, he found that image of Hannibal entirely appealing.

Will fastened his own pants and returned to Hannibal's chair by the fire. He sat, shuffling aside the book Hannibal had been reading and picking up a half-empty glass of wine from the nearest table. He wondered idly what sort of reaction Hannibal had been expecting when he planned this night.

He sipped the wine, tapping his knee with his free hand. Hannibal walked toward him on his knees until the inside of his own leg nudged Will's, then stopped to wait for instructions. Will thought he could very well get used to that kind of submission.

"You can get back to what you were doing before. Keep your hands above your waist, though."

Hannibal put one hand on Will's opposite thigh, and with the other grasped the arm of the chair, his fingers landing over Will's; neither of them moved their hands. He crowded in close, until Will could feel his cock nudging at his leg, and slowly began to rock his hips.

Will watched him intently, sipping the last of the wine and glad he had already come. Even humping his leg, Hannibal was a sight to behold: he had no shame, if he was even capable of it, as he rubbed against Will, his mouth open and sweat beading at his temples. He made breathy little pants and moans, with no effort to swallow them back. His hair was falling across his face, sticking to his forehead. His whole body rolled with his thrusts, and even though the fabric of Will's pants could hardly have been comfortable against his mostly dry cock, the tremors wracking his body spoke of hedonistic indulgence.

He kept his pace even and unhurried, though. He was putting on a show, Will realized, and though he appreciated it, he wanted to see Hannibal break.

"You should finish soon," he said, "unless you'd rather not come tonight at all."

Hannibal's fingers dug into Will's thigh and hand, his pace picking up almost immediately. He was more animalistic, obviously chasing down his orgasm. The increased speed of his thrusts meant his cock slipped away from Will's leg more often, and each time he would made a hollow, low sound, not unlike a whimper of pain.

By the time he came, pressing hard into Will's leg for for several long moments, Hannibal had dropped his head to Will's arm and was clutching at his hand like it was a lifeline. Will could feel moisture on his sleeve, could hear an unfamiliar hitch in Hannibal's breath. He looked wrecked, a shadow of what Will had seen after they had killed Francis Dolarhyde playing over his features.

It took Will a moment to reconcile the panting, sweating Hannibal at his feet with the smug version he had come home to, but remembering that night, the way Hannibal had held him so dearly after they had both been so brutal, helped fit the jagged edges of him together. Will almost wanted to laugh at himself for the way seeing all of Hannibal made his heart swell with affection, but he was too sated, too happy even to pretend at regret.

He could feel Hannibal's come, wet and growing cold, on his shin, and knew before long he'd want to change. There was still dinner to eat, and probably plenty to talk about, once he could get his thoughts entirely in order again.

But Hannibal and the fire were both warm, and orgasm and the little bit of wine had smoothed the edges of his anger. He could bear an empty stomach and a soiled pant leg just a little longer.


End file.
